


Love Underground

by Grace Kay (Drummerchick7)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drummerchick7/pseuds/Grace%20Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leliana helps Natia Brosca come to terms with her return to Orzammar, and the monumental decision she's forced to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Underground

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Another one I wrote a while ago. I wrote this before I started "Forbidden Magic." Then I started that playthrough, and my mind went wild, and that's the story I ended up writing. But I was totally in love with the dwarf commoner origin, and the character for her I made up in my head. So I included some of that made-up history here.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> And because this is me, there is smut near the end. You have been warned. ;)

The peaks of the Frostback Mountains loomed above them.

But Natia was nowhere to be seen. Leliana had helped her set up her tent, as she'd done every night for two months since they finally purchased it for the poor dwarf. Then she had gone to heat their supper, and hadn't seen the Warden for over an hour. The stew was now done, everyone digging in eagerly – the nights Leliana cooked were favorites, even Morrigan having nothing bad to say – but the dwarf had not emerged for food. That in and of itself was disquieting: the two Wardens packed away enough food per meal to put a qunari warrior to shame. If she wasn't hungry…

"Natia?" She walked up to the tent, bowl in-hand. She got a strangled cry of a response, and hurriedly let herself into the tent. She found the dwarf curled into a ball, arms wrapped around her knees, her armor still on. Her weapons, at least, were set aside.

Leliana knelt next to her, setting the bowl of stew aside, nestled behind the woman's pack to avoid being spilt. She rested one hand on Natia's shoulder and the other along the dwarven woman's jaw, trying to coax her out of herself.

It worked. Natia's eyes focused, and she let go of her knees, letting her legs stretch out in front of her as she shifted her head to look up into Leliana's eyes.

"Leliana. Hi." Her voice was soft, much softer than usual, and somewhat hoarse, like she'd been shouting. Or crying. Leliana sought out tears, but there were none to be seen.

"Natia, please, have something to eat?"

"I… I'm not hungry," said the dwarf, looking away from the human once more. She had made no move to remove the hands caressing her shoulder and face, though, so Leliana made no move to remove them herself. Instead, she simply applied pressure once more, turning the dwarf's head to face her. When she had the Warden's attention, she leaned down and pressed the softest of kisses to the dwarf's lips, pulling back after only a moment.

" _S'il vous pla_ _î_ _t, ma petite amie, ma ch_ _è_ _re. Pour moi?_ _"_

Natia looked into her eyes for a moment searchingly, then nodded her acquiescence. Leliana reached for the discarded stew and placed it into the dwarf's hands, settling down next to her. She sat in silence as the woman ate.

* * *

She remembered meeting the dwarf. She convinced her to spare the lives of Loghain's men in Lothering. She had helped them fight before they'd bested the men, getting blood on her Chantry robes from the man she had cut. She'd been surprised by how familiar it was, even after years spent in quiet contemplation at the Chantry.

Later, she had consoled the dwarf, who would wake violently from her nightmares throughout the night. On one particular night, she and Alistair had been seated across the fire from each other, and Natia had awoken with a cry, gasping for breath. She'd muttered something to Alistair about how the sky horrified her, keeping the nightmare she'd been having from ending. Leliana's heart had gone out to her then, realizing how alien this world must be to her if something as natural as the sky made her so uncomfortable. Leliana had suggested purchasing a tent, to give the dwarf a sort of den, something other than open sky over her as she slept. Natia had gotten better sleep after that.

Then it had rained one night. In addition to the rain being utterly and completely foreign to the poor dwarf, no one else  _had_  a tent yet. By that point Zevran had joined them, though, and he and Leliana had shown everyone how to construct a waterproof lean-to against a tree. No one woke up dry, but neither was anyone completely soaked. After that, everyone had held off on making purchases until each had their own tent. Except Sten, of course, who steadfastly slept under the stars, even if there were clouds and rain between him and them.

The night it rained was the night after Leliana had finally told Natia of her life as a bard. She'd only been with them for about two weeks, but the two had started a rapport that was moving steadily toward friendship. They were alike in many ways, and the dwarf had shared some of her life in Orzammar, leaving Leliana feeling worse and worse as she lied by omission. So she had spilled, the night of the defeat of the demon at Redcliffe. Arl Eamon had still been sick in bed, Isolde had perished to save her son, and they would soon depart on what Natia deemed a mad quest for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. She sat upon Natia's bed at Castle Redcliffe and told Natia of her life as a bard, of her mentorship with Marjolaine – leaving out the romantic aspects of her relationship with the woman (she didn't know how that kind of thing was looked upon among the diminutive folk) – and had fallen asleep in the dwarf's arms after finally,  _finally_  mourning for herself, letting the tears fall onto the strong dwarf's shoulder.

She had never slept so well.

Until the next night, the night it rained, when Natia had beckoned her into her tent, out of the pouring rain. Leliana had scampered in, shaking the water out of her hair, and listened as Natia told her in depth of her exile from Orzammar. She had fallen asleep with the dwarf in  _her_  arms that night, her tunic the one that was stained by tears. The guilt at having to leave her sister, the shame in being called out for the mark on her face and imprisoned, the horror of having to hack her way to freedom through the blood of the criminal gang she'd been forced to work for. Leliana honestly couldn't imagine. She'd wept with the woman, mostly for the joy she'd taken in playing The Game, at the expense of people like Natia. The poor usually weren't directly targets, but they never came out on top when the nobles of Orlais decided to off each other.

She had awoken fresh and well-rested, the dwarf nuzzled perfectly into her neck.

And that was when she'd realized she had already begun to fall for the Warden. First, it had been the sway of the woman's large hips, the narrowness of her waist, that she had found attractive. Then it had been the raw power the woman wielded on the battlefield, her short swords swung with perfect precision. Then it had been her smell as they lay together, her face either nestled into Natia's shoulder, or pushed into her dark brown locks.

After that night, she had steadfastly avoided slipping into Natia's tent again.

But then they were ambushed by Marjolaine's men. That night, Natia had come to her, letting her cry her fears into her shoulder, and whisper her confessions of the true nature of her relationship to Marjolaine into the night. She had held the bard, enfolding her in long, strong arms as they lay together in Leliana's tent.

From then on, one of them had sought the other out.

Tonight had been the first kiss, though. Even after they had driven Marjolaine from Denerim, she did not make a move, merely taking comfort from the Warden in her tent that night.

Now, three weeks after returning to Redcliffe with the Ashes, and one week after leaving Marjolaine's house in Denerim, they were at the threshold of the inevitable return to Orzammar, and Natia had become more and more anxious over the course of the week. At first it had taken the form of laughing too loudly at bad jokes, cooking and eating with more gusto than usual. Then she had begun to completely exhaust herself, throwing herself into the enemy, harnessing the dwarven berserker fighting style, and falling into bed the moment she was done eating. She even stopped seeking Leliana out, leaving her without a bedmate when she was used to having one for the previous two weeks. Tonight, the night before they would seek entrance to the vast underground city, she needed prompting to eat.

Leliana hoped that her kiss, their first, was timed well enough to draw Natia's attention from the discomfort the dawn promised her.

* * *

Natia's hand tensed around the handle of the dirk at her side, the leather handle creaking against the leather of her gloves. Loghain's representative was stalking off, angry and defeated, refused an audience with the non-existent king of Orzammar. She had no feelings regarding the king's death, but she  _did_  have feelings about her mixed reception from the guard. He let her in because she was a Grey Warden – fellow fighters of darkspawn – and because she was a dwarf, able to understand their politics and customs. At first, though, he was disdainful, marking her as the slums-deserting surfacer that she was. Only once Alistair had pointed out that he and she were Wardens did he begin to listen to what she had to say.

She let go of the dirk and pushed past the man, letting their armor clank together loudly as she did so. Her face was set in a scowl, her hands clenched into loose fists at her side. She led her companions silently through the Hall of Heroes, barely glancing at the statues of Paragons past. She had no use for paragons, for ancestors. She barely noticed her companions marveling at the statues, barely heard Leliana and Alistair discussing the amazing craftsmanship of not only the statues, but of the very halls they walked through. She had no time for it, no use for the wonders of her race. All it had ever gotten her was a hungry belly and a sister who had to whore herself out in order to survive.

She just wanted to see her sister, needed to assure herself that she was okay.

They entered the Commons to quite a scene, witnessing a murder before anyone could say a thing. Probing of the guard got them little, her brand getting her much the same attitude as the guard outside – he treated her like the mud on his boots until it was revealed she was a Warden, that only earning her answers to her questions with a rude tone of voice.

As she stalked off, hands fisted at her side, Leliana caught up to her.

"Natia, wait," she called softly. Natia slowed her steps, the bard calming her anger somewhat. She distantly noted that this in and of itself was a small miracle – not even Rica could ever calm her anger at how unjustly they were treated all their lives. No other brand got that angry, including Rica – they instead lamented that they had no House, and tried desperately to bear noble sons. But then, Rica had not had the same father growing up to teach her of what life  _could_  be like.

As she slowed, a slender hand stole out to catch her arm, turning her and stopping her in the same beat. Natia scowled but allowed it, turning to face the creamy-skinned human moodily.

"We should make a plan,  _non_? Or at least fill us in on what it is you plan to do?"

Natia blinked stupidly for a moment. All she wanted was to find Rica, dammit!

"Perhaps we should split up," suggested Alistair, knowing enough of Natia's story to know she cared very deeply for her family, and would want to know how they fared, since she was here.

"That is an excellent idea," Leliana replied, beaming at Alistair. "Natia and I will start in Dust Town. We will meet at that tavern over there in three hours, let's say, for a meal and a room." And before anyone could say anything in reply, she had hauled Natia back around and frog-marched her away from the rest, leaving them all looking as astonished as if she had sprouted wings and begun singing in a deep baritone. Truth be told, Natia felt as astonished as they looked, allowing herself to be led away.

"You should not be reunited with your family in front of your entire squad, my Warden," explained Leliana after a minute. She looked down, eyes all sympathy as she finally slowed their pace before letting go of Natia's arm. "You should have the freedom to be vulnerable for this."

Natia stopped, saying nothing as she turned to the Orlesian. Her eyes said everything her mouth couldn't manage to, and she took the woman's hand in her own and kissed the back of it. She missed Leliana's small blush as she turned and continued walking, not letting go of the woman's hand for several steps after they had resumed their pace.

* * *

"Well, I'll be a nug-humping surfacer! Natia!"

Natia smirked, walking up to the dark-haired male dwarf, taking his hand, and slapping him on the back. "Go out on the surface, and that's just what you'd be, Leske!"

The man chuckled. "I'm so glad to see you, salroka, I won't even take offense." He paused, noticing Leliana. "And who is this heavenly creature you bring down into Dust Town? Surely she deserves better than beggars and whores?"

Natia stepped back to Leliana's side. "This is Leliana, one of my companions. Leliana, this is Leske, toughest son of a bitch I've ever gotten drunk with."

"Pleased to meet you, salroka."

Leliana was confused by the term, but smiled and curtseyed nonetheless. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance,  _monsieur_  Leske."

Leske's eyes widened at the treatment, but he remained – his version of – polite. "Any friend of Natia's here is a friend of mine. But I gotta say, Natia, I never expected you to come back… and with a  _human_  in tow, no less."

"I'm travelling on Warden business with another of the order. We have collected… a diverse group to assist us. Leliana has many skills a lunk-headed dwarf from Dust Town like me would never be able to master."

"Like what?"

Leliana stepped forward quickly, extracting both of Leske's daggers from his belt before he could so much as take a step backward. She balanced each on their point on a finger, tossing them up and catching them by the handle before offering them back, handle-first. She smiled in amusement at his astonishment.

"That would be a good example," Natia said with a smirk, "but I was actually thinking of your ability to talk someone out of their clothes, money, or  _both_ , salroka."

Leske let out a snort, and Leliana had the good grace to blush a shade or two pinker than normal.

"So, what brings you down to us lowly Dusters, huh?"

"I don't know where my family is, Leske. Also, we need to figure out what's going on with this business with the throne. I can't get Orzammar's aid unless there's a king on the throne. Never thought I'd care, but there it is."

Leske scratched his chin. "Big stuff, huh? Well, you're in luck – I heard Rica's  _benefactor_  is none other than the kin-slayer himself, Prince Bhelan. There's also Harrowmont who could get the throne, but Rica isn't making little princes for  _him_."

"Why, Leske, that sounded almost biased! You aren't involving yourself in  _politics_ , are you?" Natia's smirk and crossed arms would have showed her amusement and joking manner if her tone hadn't.

Leske snorted once more. "Hardly. I just hear things, and pass them along to you, free of charge. For old time's sake." He grinned with the last, showing yellowing teeth from the years spent chewing meat and fruit so old and dried that it required chewing for several hours at times. The one thing her mother had been good for was making stews out of those kinds of ingredients, saving her daughters' teeth and jaws a lot of pain. The fact that she did it partly to retain their beauty so they could bear noblemen's sons only put a small bitterness in her mouth anymore.

"Well, it certainly is appreciated, Leske. We'll head to the Diamond Quarter and see what we can see. See you around, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure, kid. You have a good time walking around with that brand on your face, salroka. Let me know how it goes!"

"So, that was Leske," Leliana ventured after several minutes of walking.

Natia snorted, not unlike the man they were discussing. "Yeah, that's him."

"He's… interesting."

"He's a lecherous pig, is what he is. But he makes a good buddy, and as much as he joked about getting with my sister, he never so much as laid a finger on her." She paused, eyes narrowing. "I just need to make sure he  _kept_  it that way."

"I'm sure he did, especially if she and your mother moved," Leliana offered quickly, trying to temper Natia's simmering anger by appealing to her rational side.

"I suppose… C'mon, let's go. We'll hit Harrowmont's estate first, then go see if Rica is in Bhelan's palace."

* * *

Her choices stank like day-old fish. She could take forged documents on Bhelan's behalf to people Harrowmont had sold land to, showing he'd sold the same land to both of them, or she could fight a Proving for Harrowmont. Her distrust of the noble castes was seriously hampering her ability to think about it rationally. On the one hand, Bhelan's underhanded slandering of Harrowmont left a bitter taste in her mouth. Harrowmont at least wanted her public support, rather than to publicly shame his opponent. But neither of them would speak with her until she proved her loyalty. And the only claim either of them had on her loyalty was that she was the aunt to the infant currently growing inside of Rica's swelling belly.

The reunion with Rica was wonderful. She met them outside of the palace, throwing her arms around Natia and hugging her tight. Natia hadn't missed her sister's changed appearance, and immediately began asking when the baby was due. There was some confusion for Leliana until they figured out that a dwarven pregnancy usually only lasted six months at the outside, while humans had a close to ten month pregnancy. She'd introduced Leliana, unsure of anything but that they were good friends and travel companions. Then Rica had taken the two to the Assembly to speak with Bhelan's man – she didn't remember his name, only that he reminded her of the thugs she'd worked for – and he had asked her to slander the other lord.

At least Harrowmont's request had been honorable.

But her sister had a House! She was utterly incapable of moving past that connection. Now she sat in the tavern, on her way to getting good and shit-faced while Leliana explained to the rest what was going on in as unbiased a way as she could.

Alistair was the only one who seemed even a bit concerned. And he was actually  _very_  concerned.

"We need to make sure a good king is on the throne," he said. Natia joined in the tutting from the others.

"Who cares?" She slammed back her tankard.

"I would think you would care, Natia," he answered hotly. "These are  _your_  people!" Leliana tried to stop him, an alabaster hand stealing to his shoulder, but this was his chance, and he shook her off and took it. "You wallow and steam, lamenting the way you were treated here. But you have the chance to  _change_  that, don't you see? You have the chance to support someone who will change things, who will be the leader your people so desperately  _need_! How can you sit here and get drunk and not  _care_?!"

Natia had gotten to her feet during his little speech, her fists clenched at her sides once more. She strode over to him and shoved her face in his – a considerable accomplishment, considering their difference in height. "I can't care,  _human_. I can't  _care_  when one of these houses is now apparently my family, and yet I have no trust of either of them! The nobles do not concern themselves with us – why should I concern myself with  _them_?! The only thing I've  _ever_  cared about is the safety of my family." She pulled back some, lowering her voice. "And you're one to talk, Mister 'I'd make an excellent king but won't do it'!"

Alistair was immediately on the defensive. "That's different. I'm not asking you to  _be_  king, just to pick one of the candidates and support him. The  _right_  one."

Natia scowled for a moment, then abruptly turned and stalked to the innkeeper. Her companions watched as she slammed money onto the bar, took an offered key, and stalked off toward the back of the tavern to the rooms. Rex got up from under the table and trotted after her.

"I tried to stop you, Alistair," Leliana sighed, slumping back down to the bench.

"Why is she so angry? What is so hard to understand?" Alistair finished his drink, looking into the tankard regretfully.

"It's what  _you_  don't understand. There's a part I didn't tell you with her present. Her sister, Rica, is Bhelan's consort, pregnant with the man's son. Her nephew will be of a noble House, potentially the son of the next king. But of the two, Harrowmont is far less despicable. She is torn, and far too close to the matter to make any kind of unbiased decision. And  _should_  she side with the man who is less of a snake, then she will lose her family." She looked pointedly right into Alistair's eyes. "The one thing that has kept her going while she was here, and after she left, was Rica, Alistair. And we're asking her to make a decision that will possibly rend that bond irrevocably."

Alistair was silent, seeming to wilt like a sad, guilty puppy.

"You're not wrong, Alistair. I agree that she stands in the unique position to truly know what's best for her people, and be able to support the right man. But understanding all that is involved is incredibly important. She believes the right man is Harrowmont, but Bhelan is now family, however reluctantly she accepts that."

Alistair nodded, then got up. "I think I'll retire. I… have a lot to think about."

As he departed, Zevran spoke up. "I do not understand the pull of family. It would be so easy to take advantage of it. I have done so on several occasions as an assassin."

Leliana sighed. "As have I, as a bard. I had the fortune of my family no longer living by that time, as do you, Zevran. But look at what she has been able to accomplish  _because_  of her family. If her sister hadn't been safe, or had died, she would have withered away until she was nothing. I doubt she would have survived this Grey Warden ritual those two have mentioned. So families can accomplish truly amazing things, as well, yes?"

"You have a point," the elf conceded. "Though I am glad we are here to keep any  _others_  from nabbing the girl, hmm?"

"I tire of your chatter. I, too, shall retire, if only to rid myself of your incessant prattle." Morrigan got up and went to get a key from the innkeeper.

"I will go check on Natia. She will have cooled off by now, I think." Leliana got up, not bothering with the innkeeper, heading straight back. She would find the room on her own.

"Well, my large mountain of a friend, it looks like it is you and I, alone at last. Is it true what they say about qunari stamina in the bedchamber?"

Sten grunted, fixing the elf with a glare. "I, too, shall seek slumber."

As he walked away, Zevran chuckled. He finished his drink and looked around, finding a handsome young dwarven woman looking a little too long at him from the corner. He raised his tankard, winked, and sighed contentedly.  _His_  night, at least, would not be spoiled by politics.

* * *

Leliana knocked on the Warden's door. "Natia?" She heard only a muffled grunt. " _S'il vous pla_ _î_ _t_ , may I come in?"

As she finished her request, the door opened for her. Leaning against it as she was, she actually fell, only to be caught by the strong, long-armed dwarf on the other side.

"Easy, salroka. I got you." She held on, one arm around Leliana's waist, the other holding firmly to her elbow, until the bard had her feet under her once more. As Natia began to withdraw, however, Leliana reached a hand to Natia's face and caressed her cheek. Natia's eyes were drawn up to Leliana's face, and before she could stop the shorter woman, she found her head pulled down and their lips pressed together.

Leliana did not pull away. In fact, she did the opposite, melting into Natia's arms, flicking her tongue out to caress the dwarf's lips, drawing the other's lower lip in and giving it a gentle nibble. Natia pulled her in tight, head tilted up to reach Leliana's face, and pulled her away from the door, reaching a foot out and catching the door to give it a shove closed.

Leliana found herself quickly moved from the door to the bed, found herself being lowered as gently as the shorter woman could, the dwarf moving to be on top of her. She noted, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Natia had taken her armor off, only the rough homespun tunic and trousers she wore underneath being pushed into Leliana's body. She herself had chosen to enter Orzammar with only very light armor on, the rest in their pack, not wanting their party to seem too domineering. The effect was that she could feel the shorter woman's body move against hers, setting her skin on fire.

Natia moved, her lips blazing a trail of soft kisses from Leliana's jaw to her throat, moving from there down to her collar bone. Her hands moved along Leliana's sides, tickling her ribs, circling her waist, digging into her hips with no-longer-restrained need. When her fingers began to creep up underneath Leliana's tunic, however, Leliana's foggy mind immediately clarified in panic.

"No!"

The redhead sat up abruptly, practically throwing the dusky-skinned dwarf off of her. Natia sat back on her knees, steadying herself with a hand on Leliana's thigh. Her hair was mussed, her lips slightly puffed and pink from Leliana's ministrations, and her eyes showing her clear confusion.

"Leliana?"

"I… I can't. Not yet. I… I should go." She made to get up, but Natia's hand on her thigh tightened, restraining her.

"Salroka, what's wrong?" Her hand stole to Leliana's face. The bard turned into it, pressing her face to the dwarf's palm, taking comfort from the fact that Natia's reaction was only confusion – and rightly so! – and not anger or frustration. She sought to comfort the bard, making Leliana's heart melt a little bit more.

"I… I have not been intimate with anyone since… since Marjolaine." Natia's eyes immediately softened, and she pushed forward a little, wrapping an arm around Leliana's shoulder. She let the dwarf hold her for a moment, then pulled away a little, looking up to her – still on her knees on the bed – and speaking her worries. "The chevaliers. They… left their mark on me, quite literally. No one has seen me since. I am… ashamed of my body. I used to be so pretty… And I feel ashamed for caring so." She could no longer look into those deep, soulful eyes, choosing instead to look at the bedspread, arms folded in her lap.

Natia considered her for a moment, head tilted like the mabari on the floor. Her hand moved to Leliana's face once more, tilting up her chin and kissing her delicately on the lips.

"I think you are beautiful," Natia said, amber eyes looking right into Leliana's. "You are sweet and kind, and you have this fire I've never before seen in a person. And you have skin the color of the purest cream, hair the color of fire – you are absolutely, stunningly beautiful." She waited a beat, then grinned. "And you smell amazing." Leliana chuckled despite herself, Natia's grin deepening before she continued. "I long to see your body, feel you against me, and show you how much you've come to mean to me. But I won't push. I think we could be more than friends, salroka, and I can wait, go slowly, only join you in things for which you are ready. Simply know that I consider you family, and would do anything to make you feel safe, and wanted."

And then Leliana was being rid of her light armor, her boots, her gloves, Natia delicately and expertly removing all of it. She then climbed back onto the bed, kissed the bard once more, and drew her down, resting red hair upon her shoulder, coaxing the woman to sleep as she had done so many nights before upon the floor of her tent.

* * *

When Leliana awoke, Natia was gone. She was tucked in to the dwarf's bed, though, Rex snuggled in between her back and the wall. She stretched and turned over, smiling and petting the giant war hound like a beloved pet. She murmured baby talk in Orlesian for a few minutes as she pet him, the dog uncurling and rolling onto his back with a faint grunt of pleasure.

She felt good. She and the Warden had talked of nothing as they fell asleep, her moment of weakness and shame forgotten. She only wished the dwarf were still in the bed with her, so she could kiss her good-morning, and perhaps start the process of getting over her body issues.

After a few minutes, she was fully awake, her stomach informing her that she should really get something to eat. She got up, Rex stretching and following her. She grabbed her boots, pulling them on and splashing water on her face, checking her hair and teeth before emerging into the common room of the tavern. As she shut the door, she found Zevran moving similarly out of another room, carrying his belongings – minus trousers, which he wore – in a bundle in his arms. When he caught sight of her, he smiled and nodded, moving away toward the room he was supposed to have shared with Alistair and Sten the night before. She acknowledged him with a smile and a nod of her own, wondering which lucky lady – or gentleman – had been wooed by the charming elf.

Shaking her head, she continued out of the hallway and into the taproom, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting to her as she found those companions who were awake at a table in the center of the room, by a roaring fire. Rex trotted past her, going outside and down the street to relieve himself in the one spot he was allowed to in the entirety of the Commons.

"Good morning," Alistair sang out, noticing her first. Natia turned her head, the warmest smile Leliana had ever seen upon her face. Leliana couldn't help but reflect it, coming to sit next to her on the bench. Natia half-stood, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before sitting back down and tearing into the plate of bread, cheese, and fresh fruits, food the likes of which Leliana knew she'd never had while living in Orzammar. Leliana colored slightly at the warm, open affection, never having received it quite like this before, glancing up to Alistair's stare almost defiantly. He only smiled warmly and went back to his own breakfast and conversation with the other Warden.

Truth be told, she was very worried about his reaction to her blossoming romance with the dwarf. When she had first joined their band of merry travellers, he had made his crush on her known quite spectacularly – and quite foolishly. They had stopped to resupply, spending their meager coin on armaments, arms, and food. Alistair, however, had forsaken any upgrades to his equipment, instead purchasing a lute the merchant happened to have and presenting it with a flourish to Leliana, who had, at that time, been known as a minstrel only. She had accepted his gift graciously, playing and singing for the group that night. But as they stood watch together that night, she had let him down as gently as she could, making it clear that she was only attracted to other women, but that she was sure he would make some other woman very happy, sweet and handsome as he was.

He had accepted this, but she was worried about some lingering jealousy as it became clearer to her that Natia reciprocated her feelings. Clearly, though, her fears were unfounded. If anything, he seemed pleased. Perhaps he was one of those rare people who simply wanted others to be happy?

As she ate and considered, their conversation drew her attention.

"I thought about it all night, Alistair. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. He seems the better choice. I have to think like that now, don't you see? I can't choose one over the other simply because he fathered my nephew. My gut is telling me that Harrowmont is the better choice."

"But I've heard that Bhelan actually wishes to get rid of the castes," Alistair argued, eyebrows knitting in concern. "Isn't that something you wanted?"

Natia sighed. "It is, but kinslayer? I can't think of a sin worse than that." She shook her head. "It's too shady. I understand why Harrowmont doesn't want to see me until I prove that I'm not an assassin. Bhelan  _knows_  I'm related to his beloved  _consort_ ," and here, she almost shuddered, her disgust for their arrangement was so palpable. "The fact he still needs me to prove my loyalty? No, this is bigger than me and Rica. I think Harrowmont is the right choice. And if I do this, win the Proving as I did before I was sentenced to death, then maybe I'll have some sway, be able to make him see that  _all_  of his subjects require his care, deserve respect. If a castles can win a Glory Proving…"

Alistair looked at her a moment, then nodded. "I actually thought he was the better choice, as well. But I'm not the one who knows the most about  _your_  people and what they need."

Leliana cut in, sliding her fingers along Natia's arm and entwining their fingers between their seats. "I think you are right, Natia. This decision is bigger than family. But I know it can't be an easy decision to make."

Natia looked into her face a moment, a sad smile on her face. "No, it's not. And I'm not sure Rica will be able to forgive me – she's always bought into our caste system, into getting herself into a House as a consort. I don't think she'll be able to take a step back and look at the big picture. But I think this is the right decision." She took a deep breath, letting it out while squaring her shoulders. "And I would rather fight in a Proving than run around trying to prove someone's corruption with forged documents. No. This is the right choice."

Leliana gave her hand a squeeze, letting go as she saw both Morrigan and Zevran approach the table. "I am glad,  _ma chérie_." She leaned over and spoke low into her ear. "We will be here for you, all of us, to support you through this. I especially."

She watched Natia's lips quirk up at the corners, cherished the ripple in her shoulders, an ease to the tension that had been there a moment before. She would be all right. And she knew the dwarf would perform admirably in this Proving – how could she not?

* * *

"My Warden, here you are! But where is the wine? The feast?" Leliana paused at the threshold of the mighty room Harrowmont had afforded his Champion of the Proving, quirking an eyebrow. "The women?"

Natia smiled from the bed, sitting up a little against a wall of pillows, recovering from injuries sustained during her day of fighting. "I sent the servants away. What fun is a feast on your own? And even a Proving Champion will not get many women with a brand on her face." Her smiled faded some at the last.

"Well," said Leliana, moving into the room with a definite sway to her hips, holding up a sack. "I have bread and cheese, and a wineskin." She moved to the table and put the bundle down, moving over to the side of the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over and placing her hands on either side of the dwarf. "And…  _I_  am a woman."

Natia looked up into heavily lidded eyes, could smell the scent of the woman wafting over her. She had noted and appreciated what she wore when she sashayed into the room, a lovely simple tunic above a skirt that was too short for her, made for a dwarven woman as it was. But now all she could see were those blue eyes, her face framed by two curtains of short red hair. The dwarf gulped, having no response, aware that Leliana was offering her body to the dwarf.

Finally, she spoke, her words barely a whisper. "Are you sure, salroka?"

Leliana smiled, her face lighting up. " _Ma petite pomme de terre_ , how could I not be after the words you spoke to me last night?" She moved onto the bed, straddling the dwarf's lap, bracing herself with one hand on either side of Natia's head on the pillow. Natia's hands settled on Leliana's hips most naturally, like they belonged there. "I am yours, Natia, if you will have me. All of me." And she closed the distance between them, catching the dwarf's lips in a gentle but persistent kiss.

Natia could hardly believe her luck. She didn't hesitate, tightening her grip on Leliana's hips while deepening the kiss. She swiped her tongue out, seeking entrance to the bard's mouth, sliding a hand up, pushing at the small of her back, encouraging the woman on top of her to press closer. Leliana let out a little moan of pleasure, opening her lips to allow Natia's tongue access, melting against the dwarf while wrapping an arm around the shorter woman's neck, burying a hand in dark brown hair.

Natia also let out a little moan of pleasure, humming into Leliana's mouth as she swiped her tongue out once more. The taste of the bard's mouth would have made her weak in the knees, were she on her feet. As it was, she simply could not get enough, having to restrain herself from invading the woman's mouth with her tongue. As she caressed Leliana's back, pressing her hand into the small of her back, feeling the woman almost squirm under her touch, she brought the other hand to the woman's hair, burying her fingers in it, pulling them even closer together.

Leliana squeaked slightly after several moments, wriggling out from under the dwarf's embrace, sitting up, panting to catch her breath. Her pupils were dilated, making her blue eyes dark with need. Coupled with her slightly mussed hair, Natia thought it was about the sexiest she'd ever seen her. Her hands rested on Leliana's thighs, fingering the hem of the short skirt unconsciously – it had ridden up, showing creamy skin that made Natia's stomach literally clench in anticipation. The expression on Leliana's face didn't help the feeling.

The redhead's fingers stole across Natia's face, softly tracing the tattoo there before cupping the dwarf's cheek. Then she removed her hands, placing them on the hem of her tunic and pulling it over her head in one move. She reasoned with herself that it was like removing a bandage – the longer this disrobing, this revealing of her body, took, the more painful it would be. Best to get it over with in one go. The shirt came up and over her head, leaving her in skirt and smallclothes, straddling the dwarf's lap.

Natia's eyes fell upon the obvious scarring upon the Orlesian, her hands stealing out and tracing the worst of them as her eyes found them. Leliana watched her, noting how warm the Warden's hands were. After what seemed hours, though it was truly only a handful of moments, amber eyes snapped up to meet blue, and the desire captured within those eyes stole the very air out of Leliana's lungs for a moment. The dwarf surged upward, and in a few short minutes, they were both naked, kissing every part of the other that they could reach.

After some time kissing and caressing, groping each other's breasts and leaving marks on each other's skin with their mouths, Leliana pulled back once more. "I," she panted, pushing her hair out of her face as she once again straddled the dwarf's lap. She made to continue, but the sight beneath her made her breath hitch.

The dwarf lay prone, eyes looking up at her from beneath heavy lids. Her hair mussed, her lips swollen from their enthusiastic kisses – she looked like sex and passion incarnate. Her breasts were round and full, heavy, falling slightly to each side of her chest, which was heaving from their exertions. Leliana's eyes travelled down, finding the woman's belly button – an innie – and a thin line of dark hair leading from there to her sex. The hair here looked wiry and coarse, and yet she knew from the feel of it beneath her that it was much softer, downier, than it looked. Sitting flush against it was her own fiery pubic hair, and suddenly she was aware of the smell of her own arousal, released because her legs were spread. Had she not already been flush with exertion and arousal, she would have blushed. As it was, she simply stared, somewhat dumbly, until Natia got her attention.

She reached up with one of her long arms, caressing Leliana's cheek with a warm hand. She watched as Leliana's eyes focused on her own, smiling up at her, laughing when Leliana giggled.

"I am sorry, Natia. You are just so…"

She was cut off by a finger over her lips. The dwarf didn't say anything, just sat up and pulled Leliana's face down to her own, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the bard. She trailed a hand down her chest, cupping each breast lovingly before moving down her stomach. Leliana nearly cried out when Natia found her sex, gently pushing through the hair and swirling in the wetness of her arousal. Her fingers dug in to Natia's shoulders as she moaned with the probing presence of those fingers at her entrance, slowly but deliberately pushing their way inside of her.

Natia lay back down, looking up at the woman sitting astride her, her own hand disappearing into the space between their two sexes. Leliana ground against her hand, burying two of the dwarf's fingers deeper inside herself, making Natia's knees weak once more.

"Ancestors, Leliana," she gasped, gripping Leliana's hip with her free hand. The way the human looked, slowly rolling on top of her, made the Warden's gut clench. "I don't think I've ever laid eyes on anyone so very  _sexy_." Leliana smiled, moving once more, feeling the dwarf's fingers inside of her curl with her movement. It wasn't going to take long, she could tell. It had been so  _very_  long, and Natia seemed to know just what to do.

She gyrated her hips slowly, grinding up against the heel of the Warden's hand, feeling the stimulation reach all the way up into her belly. Tension, delicious and hot, was building there, pushing her closer to the edge of a cliff. In just a few delectable moments of them gyrating together, her hips being driven mercilessly into the hand placed between her legs, she would be pushed over the edge of that cliff. And she would  _jump_  off of it, more than willingly.

One more roll of their hips, one more curl of Natia's fingers, one more press against the heel of the dwarf's hand, and she was over the edge. Leliana cried out her pleasure, throwing her head back and arching her back atop the dwarf. Natia's exclamation joined hers, not of pleasure but of awe, and she moved her hand as best she could, though Leliana had clamped down upon it in a vice grip.

Several moments – practically an eternity – later, the bard's climax began to calm, and she collapsed atop the dwarf. Natia could feel the tremors of her aftershocks, and she coaxed out every last one she could with little curls and pumps of her fingers, until it was clear that Leliana was well and truly  _done_. She cooed in her ear, kissing her cheek as the woman nuzzled into her neck. She reveled in the liquid feel of Leliana's body against her own, the slickness of the bard around her fingers, the scent of the woman as it wafted over the dwarf. She could feel the human's heartbeat pulsing deep inside of her, thundering against Natia's fingers through the bard's inner walls.

She gently pulled free from Leliana, the bard whimpering as she did so. She then wrapped her arms around the bard, still-wet fingers rubbing lightly along the opposite set of ribs. Leliana melted further into her, nuzzling as deep into Natia's neck as she could, straightening out her legs and shifting until she lay limp atop the dwarf.

Several seconds and an eternity later, Leliana cracked her eyes open.

Natia smiled. "Welcome back."

Leliana's grin was slow, starting as a small smile, spreading slowly across her face over several seconds. Then she was chuckling, then giggling, the Warden's voice joining hers, filling the room with the sounds of their mirth, where moments before it had been filled with the sounds of their passion.

Her laughter calming into a few straggling chuckles, Natia spoke up again. "So… not bad, then?" Leliana clucked her tongue and raised herself several inches to look into the Warden's face.

"I've had better," she teased, earning a shocked expression from the dwarf. Natia then barked a laugh and caught the human in a bear hug, rolling her over and pinning her down in triumph.

"Better, huh? Well, I guess I'm just going to have to try a little harder then."

Her hands crawled across the bard's skin, stoking the coals of her passion once more. Leliana's squeal filled the room, ending in a gasp of the dwarf's name.

* * *

Leliana trailed her fingers over Natia's facial tattoo, a rapt expression on her face.

"I know that in your culture it is the sign of those lowly born, but I still think it is beautiful. Whoever put ink to your skin was very clever – it is excellently done. It reminds me of the clan markings the Dalish elves are said to wear."

Natia watched the human's eyes. Lately, it was easy for her to forget about the brand. And when it was brought up, it was not in disdain. If anything, fellow warriors felt it made her look more intimidating. Sten even said it made up for the fact that she was female. But her two days back in Orzammar had brought it all back with the swiftness of the executioner's axe.

"I'm glad you think so. Most of my people see it as something that…  _mars_  my face. Even old lovers would tell me how much more beautiful I would be without it."

Leliana stopped her tracing, fixing Natia with a shocked stare. "How could anyone ever say that? Who were these people, to say such a thing?"

Natia chuckled. "Fellow dwarves with brands of their own." At Leliana's look, Natia elaborated. "All of my lovers have been like Rica: dusters who were trying to be consorts in noble Houses." She hesitated for a moment, then continued. "I'm quite…  _unusual_  looking, for a dwarf. Have you noticed?"

Leliana shook her head slightly. "You are the first I've ever known."

"Well, for one, I am the only one in Orzammar with dark skin. The dwarves here in Ferelden, who live underground, generally have pale skin, much like yours and Morrigan's. My features are also quite different from most – I have a small nose, and large eyes."

Leliana quirked her head to the side, considering her lover's face for a moment. "Now that you mention it, you're right. I don't recall seeing any dark skinned dwarves. I couldn't say about your eyes or nose. They are  _lovely_ , but the only ones I know well enough."

Natia smiled. "Flatterer." She sat up some, leaning against the pillows once more. Leliana settled in against her shoulder, tracing some of the scars the dwarf bore on her torso from battle. "My father… he was a surface dwarf from Rivain. His family had been there for a long time. He was a merchant, and chose to trade in Orzammar. My mother met him, and, well… It was a scandal. She was a consort to some noble – I don't know who – and bore a daughter, Rica. She then became pregnant again, and I was born. That I was a girl was bad enough, since we inherit our castes from our same-sex parent. But I was clearly  _not_  this noble's child. Rica was, but he had no interest in a casteless daughter, and Mother had betrayed him with the only dark-skinned man anyone had ever seen."

Leliana remained quiet, listening intently, letting Natia finally tell this story.

Natia continued. "Father stayed in Orzammar, moving my mother, sister, and I into a house he managed to purchase, leaving for months at a time to do trade, earning a living for us. Rica was already seven years old when I was born, and the noble lord and his servants raised her up until then. She never saw him again – I think his family forbade it – but she  _did_  get gifts sometimes. She believes firmly in the whole caste system. Well, she believes in furthering her station by bearing a noble son, at least. My father did not. I think how I do because of him." She chuckled. "Rica  _hated_  him. I mean, she appreciated that he provided for her, but it took some growing up on her part to really understand all of that. I think all she saw was that we moved to Dust Town once he came around. She loved me, though. But I don't think she will anymore, not after today's Proving."

Natia fell silent, clearly lost in thought. After a time, Leliana hesitantly sought to draw the dwarf out of herself. "What happened to him?"

Natia's attention focused instantly. "Father? We don't know. He left for one of his trade ventures, and he never came back. Bandits or pirates, probably. No one knows for certain – he was a poor dwarf who mostly travelled alone. I was ten. Rica was already old enough to marry, or to whore. We fell in with Beraht not long after the money ran out. I started picking pockets. I wasn't branded yet, not permanently, and I was pretty enough that I could put on my still-nice clothes and wander the Commons. I grew up, though, and started learning to fight, and soon I became a thug. I had the tattoo permanently drawn in memory of my father – I didn't want to hide who I was anymore. And drawing it on yourself every morning is tedious."

"Did you never think of leaving Orzammar? You said your father was a surfacer?"

"I did, sure, but neither Mother nor Rica would dream of it – that is to be casteless  _forever_. And I could not leave my family to rot under Beraht's filthy iron fist. The Brosca girls stick together." She smiled weakly. "Or, we did until I was sentenced to death for impersonating a member of the Warrior Caste in a Proving to save the two of them." She stared off for a moment, halting her idle caresses of Leliana's bare shoulder.

"I don't regret it, I guess," she said after a few moments, squeezing Leliana to her for a moment. "I never would have met you, and Beraht would still be around to torment us. No, I think, altogether, life has taken a turn for the better for everyone. I do not look forward to speaking to my sister again, though. I think she will never forgive me for the choice I made."

Leliana reached up, cupping the Warden's cheek with her hand, saying nothing for several moments. Then, suddenly, on a whim, she blurted, "I love you, Natia."

The dwarf blinked down at her for a moment, clearly taken aback. Then she smiled faintly, turning her face into the bard's palm and kissing it. When she turned back, it was a full-on grin. "I love you, too, Leliana." She ducked her head to kiss Leliana eagerly, molding the human's lips with her own until they fit together perfectly.


End file.
